“Oh yes, I did hear them mention it.” Sophie fingered the cross at her neck. “Can you go with them and run an errand for me?”
“Aye. But won’t you be going yerself?”
“I have to see Lord Loughton.”
Willa went silent as she settled the blue gown over her, straightening it, and then sighing. “Lord Loughton’s gone off this morning. Won’t be back tonight.”
“What?” Heat flooded her face. “G-gone off?”
“Off to Thurgood Manor near Melton Mowbray. Had it from the groom, Marty. Come and sit and I’ll dress your hair.” Willa held the dressing table chair for her. “Left a note for his mother. She was fit to be tied, they say, but that Mr. George Lovelace will have all in hand soon. Mayhap you should ask him for help?”
She dropped her gaze from the rising color reflected back at her in the mirror. Help from George Lovelace might come at a higher price than a few kisses under the mistletoe.
Why did he stir her so?
“There.” Willa patted her shoulder.
Sophie let out a breath. Willa had coaxed some of her thick mop into face-framing curls.
“Been wanting to do this,” the maid said. “You look like yourself again. You’ll catch some gentleman’s—”
“Willa. You know I’ve no plans to marry.” Once had been enough.
Sophie unhooked the chain at her neck and gazed again at her grandmother’s cross. She’d told Glanford the metal was not real gold, that the garnets were just bits of glass, that it was merely a cheap family heirloom, dear for its memories. Only the last bit was true, but he’d believed her, and this piece of jewelry hadn’t gone to pay creditors.
It will one day be yours and you may pass it to your own daughter, her mother had said.
Instead she’d had sons, and she was grateful for both of them. And they must have a Christmas.
“We may as well both go into town,” she said.
The High Street was crowded with shoppers, and George greeted neighbors, thankful he hadn’t spotted the ladies from Loughton Manor. He hurried past the drapers, where they might be thumbing through ribbons and bolts of cloth, and entered the jewelers.
Hawkins stood behind the counter frowning down at a short woman in a dark cape.
George raised a hand in greeting and studied a display of gold chains. With no other customers in the shop, he wouldn’t have long to wait.
“I’m asking where you got it,” Hawkins said.
“As I said,” came the pleasant reply, “the cross is my lady’s. I’m here at her behest to sell it. I’ve not stolen it.”
“Perhaps you could fetch your lady to vouch for you.”
“She’s asked me to do this for her.”
“I don’t know you. Are you a visitor to these parts?”
The woman huffed out a breath. “I’m here for the sake of my lady’s privacy.”
George stepped closer.
“But, if you must know, we are guests—”
The floor creaked under him. The woman cast a glance back, and her mouth dropped open.
He barely managed to keep his from doing the same. He’d seen her in the doorway of Lady Glanford’s bedchamber.
She bobbed a curtsy and reached for the item. Hawkins’ hand came down, covering it, evoking a sputter of protest.
“Good day to you both.” George joined them. “May I have a look, Hawkins?”
Hawkins lifted his hand revealing a gold cross set with garnets.
Color rose in the woman’s wrinkled cheeks. Plump and older, she looked to be the sort of lady’s maid who’d started as nurse to the woman she served.
“It’s not stolen, Mr. Lovelace.”
After an assessing look, more for Hawkins’ sake than his own, he nodded. “I believe you.” He turned the cross over. The initials inscribed on the back were not Lady Glanford’s. Surely this was a family piece, and if it was the only jewelry she’d brought with her to Loughton Manor, it must be dear to her. “But, why is she selling it?”
He didn’t need to ask, but he was curious to see the maid’s response. One learned much about a man or woman from observing their servants.
She looked away, took a breath, and seemed to steel herself. “’Tis…’tis a private matter, sir. Meaning no disrespect.”
“Of course.” They hadn’t a feather to fly with. “None taken. Hawkins, I’ll vouch for this good woman. Carry on and I’ll return later.”
He stood in the haberdashery across the street, watching and thinking about the maid’s quiet dignity, so like Sophie’s. Was she the one who’d brought Sophie the news of her father’s death?
All the shame of that day came back over him. Not all men were beastly to their wives. Father hadn’t been, and neither were his brothers, not even Fitz. He ought to have spoken up more that day.
When Lady Glanford’s maid exited the jewelers, he crossed the street and entered the shop.
After completing his mother’s missions, he easily tracked the footman loading packages onto the family carriage. He pointed George to a shop that sold tea and sweets.
Cassandra beckoned him to a table she shared with Nancy, Miss Cartwright and Lady Glanford. “We’ve finished our cakes, George, but we’ll sit with you while you have yours. Will you ride back with us in the carriage?”
“There’s no room for me with all your packages, and it’s a bracing fine day for a walk. And thank you, but I will pass on cakes.”
“He’s going to the inn to drink ale,” Nancy said. “You never spend time with us anymore, George.” She sent Cassandra a sly look. “And we so wanted you to become acquainted with Charlotte.”
Miss Cartwright’s cheeks reddened like a late summer peach.
Lady Glanford stood. “Take my seat, Mr. Lovelace. I’ll go now and see to the carriage.”
Her maid appeared holding her cloak. Neither would look at him.
“The carriage is just outside, and I believe you should all climb in now, else Mother will be wondering if you’ve run off somewhere.”
“Your brother is right,” Lady Glanford said, urging them along.
“But you haven’t shopped, Lady Glanford.” Nancy said. “You haven’t bought any gifts.”
“And how could she with you along,” George said. “You can’t keep a secret to save yourself.”
At the carriage, George handed the younger girls in while Lady Glanford held back.
When he offered her his hand, she shook her head. “I do have shopping to see to. Willa and I will walk back.”
He cast a glance at the sky. After wading through the Loughton accounts, he’d needed the cold walk into town, but the weather had grown even colder and the state of the clouds meant the snow—when it came—would be heavy and fast.
“I will accompany you.”
She blinked and opened her mouth.
“Your maid—Willa is it? Willa must ride back in the carriage. Willa, I shall see to your lady’s safe arrival home, no matter the weather.”
Lady Glanford cast a glance at the maid.
“I insist. Willa, you appear to be a woman of great good sense. I’m trusting you to keep my nodcock sisters and Miss Cartwright in hand.” He took the maid’s arm, helped her in, and closed the door.